Kids wait to be reunited with relatives

The sun beats down on the small huts in the fishing village of Immuna in southern Ghana. A dozen men chant as they haul a wooden fishing boat onto the wide, sandy beach. Women in colourful dresses line one side of a dirt field, smiling and jostling each other. Men sit quietly under a canopy to the side.

About 90 children in white T-shirts sit under an orange tent on the other side of the field, listless and fidgeting. They’re as young as six, and up to 14 years old, and many are traumatized from years of hard labour and disease.

This is a family reunion of a different sort: children sent away to work in fishing communities across the country are being reunited with their relatives. Some were sold for about $200. The trafficking of children in Ghana is still not a crime.

Kwabena and his mother

Kwabena Mensah was given over to fishermen in Yeji, a town on the Volta River about 500 km away. The 14-year-old stands with his hands behind his back, eyes vacant. He’s already spent half his life working 15-hour days.

“Over there, the working conditions were terrible, even getting food to eat was a problem. It was very tough on us,” he says.

Now, the young man is being returned to the mother who let him go. Her name – Ama Eduaba – is tattooed on her arm. She’s illiterate. To make ends meet, the mother of five sells kenkey (fermented corn dough).

“I’m a widow so I’m financially disadvantaged,” she says. When my husband died, his family refused to support me. That was the reason why I gave my son away to work and bring home money. The people who came for him told me he’d return after two years. But he was gone for seven years.”

Eduaba adds that, in the end, she didn’t get any money. She’s not alone. For the past 60 years, families here have been selling their children for labour, seeking extra money to keep themselves afloat. Many people rely on fishing for income. But it’s seasonal work, so poverty is rampant.

The International Organization for Migration is orchestrating this reunion. It’s saved more than 500 children through the Yeji Trafficked Children Project. Fishermen receive training and micro-credits to help improve fishing techniques, or go into another field of work. School uniforms and supplies are given to the children, and their school fees are paid for. Families get vocational training and loans to support small businesses.

IOM’s Solomon Asare says they’re also educated about the rights of the child.

“They don’t see it being an offence or against the law, because sometimes they are taken away by family members to go and live with them. Sometimes they might be strangers but they usually know the person one way or the other,” he says. So that makes it very, very complicated to draw the line between a trafficked child as somebody who’s been abducted and a trafficked child who’s just been given away willingly by the parents.”

To make sure families don’t resell their children, officials monitor them for two years. But there are reports some trafficked children return to their former work.

Joseph Rispoli is the project’s manager. He says the same 10 to 12 communities in Ghana’s central region are sending children away. Child trafficking, he says, won’t stop until they figure out why that is.

“We have an idea of the root causes – the push and pull factor – but we don’t have any credible or accurate estimates of the magnitude of child trafficking in Ghana in any sector. We’d like to get it in all sectors by next year so that it can culminate in a national plan of action.”

Mothers waiting for their children

Meanwhile, local police officers are stepping in to protect the community’s children. They’ve imposed a curfew: no one under 18 can go out after 8 p.m. District crime officer Patrick Yeboah says police are now also arresting men who impregnate girls under the age of 12. He says it encourages child trafficking.

“She wouldn’t go to school anymore, she would stay at home. She wouldn’t take care of her child, or what she’d do is sell the baby into this slavery. We are doing this to deter them from so doing,” he says, punching his hand for emphasis.

The Child Trafficking Bill is expected to become law this year. Yeboah says it will make his job easier. Then, he won’t just be slapping the wrists of people guilty of buying and selling children – he’ll be arresting them.

Back at the ceremony, an IOM official calls out the names of the children, then their relatives. Kwabena Mensah’s name is called out: once, twice. He stands up and saunters over to receive his plastic package of school supplies. His grinning mother embraces him for the requisite photo. He admits he’s not so sure about this new life.

“The hardship I experienced was so great. I’m glad to be back home, but I don’t know much about my mother since I haven’t lived with her most of my life. So, we’ll just see how it goes,” he says.

The young man looks at the white waves crashing onto the shore. If nothing else, he’s determined to break from the past seven years on the water. He wants to study to become … a pilot.

Colleen Ross is a national news producer for CBC Radio in Toronto. She lived in Ghana in 2005, working with Journalists for Human Rights and freelancing for the CBC and BBC. She has an M.A. in both English Literature and Journalism, winning a scholarship to CBC Newsworld. Colleen is trilingual, and taught at a German university before entering journalism. She is originally from Fruitvale, B.C.

Photography credits: Emilee Irwin (top), CBC news (all other photos)

In Small Bo chiefdom Kenema district, as in much of Sierra Leone, women are still deprived of inheriting property left behind by their husbands.

It is a burning issue even though the Devolution of Estate Act, which was passed in 2007, criminalizes the act of depriving a woman from inheriting her husband’s property after his death. The act further states that it is an offense to eject a surviving spouse or child from the matrimonial home before the formal distribution of the estate.

A woman in the streets of Freetown.

Chapter three of the 1991 Constitution of Sierra Leone states that the fundamental human rights and freedom of every individual in Sierra Leone must be recognized and protected.

Article 23 of the International Convention on Civil and Political Rights recognizes the right to equality in marriage. This means that men and women have the same rights and responsibilities during the marriage and at its dissolution.

Despite this, none of the women in Wiama village in the Small Bo chiefdom in Kenema district own land.

When Jatu Lansana’s husband died some years back, her own family wanted to take her to another community. But her husband’s family refused on the grounds that she has given birth to children in the family and it would be unfair to take all the children to another family.

“I was here for five years without a husband,” Lansana said. “All the property my husband left behind was taken away from me. I was abandoned by both my husband’s family and even my children.”

One of her husband’s brothers decided to marry her. She denied because of the difficulties she had undergone, but was forced to agree.

Mamie Kamoh said the vast cocoa and coffee plantations left behind by their father were claimed by her three younger brothers on the pretext that they are the head of the family and they take care of the home while she is away with her husband.

It is stated in the Devolution of Estate Act that where there are only children left, each child should get an equal share of the estate.

“Since my brothers started working in I have not received anything from them. I requested for Le 50,000 to pay the school feels for my son but there was no money,” Kamoh said.

“The other time I attempted to enter the plantation I was sued to a native court in which I was fined Le 100,000. I felt dejected because the property by right belongs to all of us.”

A Sierra Leonean woman.

Tajoh Mamoh wanted to construct a two-room building on her family land, and told her family and the town chiefs about it.

“It was at that moment that my brother informed that chiefs that he wanted to construct a house on the same land,” she said. “I was deprived because the land was given to my brother. Up till now he has not started the construction.”

Being able to inherit and own property means women can be self reliant and provide for their children on their own.

Part of the problem is that many people do not know about the new Devolution of Estate Act, which was passed in 2007. To help address this, the Lawyer’s Center for Legal Action (LAWCLA) has put the new laws into clear language that is easier to understand.

Doris Kalle, the regional coordinator for the Coalition of Women’s Movement, said her organization has also embarked on a massive sensitization campaign in the district. They are educating women and traditional authorities on the new laws.

“A lot of women have been mainly complaining about the distribution of property especially plantations left behind by their husbands,” she said.

“We are still faced with the situation where men feel their wives are property to them. We don’t have proper bylaws that clearly define the rights of women in this community,” she said, adding that it is imperative to explain the gender acts in local languages so that people will understand.

The Movement for the Restoration of Democracy (MRD), a non-governmental organization based in Kenema, is using radio programmes to educate people about the new laws.

Patrick Adu, who works with the MRD, said in the case of property devolution, the general practice in remote communities is that the widow herself is regarded as a property to be inherited together with the deceased husband’s property.

If she does marry one of her late husband’s brothers, she may enjoy whatever benefit he derives from the estate. In the event the wife refuses to be “inherited” by one of the husband’s relations, only her personal belongings will be given her.

Young Sierra Leoneans.

Adu said that when a woman decides not marry her husband’s relations, traditional divorce laws may be invoked, keeping her from getting the property. “This is responsible for most of the problems in our villages,” he said.

Generally under the customary law, the widow is not entitled to take out letters of administration; such rights are given to the eldest surviving male in the deceased’s family. If the wife succeeds to get any property at all, she will only be given one-third of it.

Local bylaws are used in most parts of the country.

According to David Kallon, a court clerk of native administrative Court No. 4 in Kenema, the chiefdom committee drafts the laws and passes it on to the local chief administrator for approval.

But the bylaws currently in use were drafted in 1963 and have not been updated with any new laws, such as the gender acts.

He said the court only gets involved with disputes when someone makes a complaint. That means that people must understand the laws.

“We don’t call on cases from either the woman or her husband’s family but if there is any conflict among them it is the responsibility of the aggrieved to report to the court so that the court can make a ruling,” he explained.

Another problem, he said, is that the local courts lack the support to adjudicate cases properly. This leads to delays.

“Court officers are not paid. Our bylaws are not properly written. These are all compounded in the delay in of justices in our communities,” Kallon said.

Jennah Kandeh, the deputy minister of Social Welfare Gender and Children’s Affairs, expressed the government’s commitment to ensure that the gender laws are properly implemented in the interest of women and society.

She said the law was instituted to put an end to impunity against women and children.

Kandeh said her ministry has established a committee that is devoted to the sensitization campaign so that women at grassroots communities and their local authorities understand the new laws.

“We know that women are going through a lot of difficulties but with the concerted efforts by women’s organizations like the 50-50 Group and other partners in the fight, much will be achieved though community sensitization,” she said.

I left Liberia because of the continuous fighting of aimless civil war, which claimed many human lives. I only thank God that I am still alive today to tell people the story of what I went through as a survivor of violence during the 14-year war in Liberia.

The war started in 1989.

Former Liberian President, Charles Taylor

The Charles Taylor group came beating, torturing, and making you explain what you didn’t know; and if you didn’t know what to say, you would be killed, which claimed many people’s lives.

The first time I went to the Ivory Coast to run away from war was in 1994; I stayed there until 1998 when I went back to school after the elections. They forced us to go back home, but the war did not finish, and another war came. Many of us were attacked, so we ran back to Ivory Coast. But we were caught beaten by the Charles Taylor group.

In 1994, I was just 13 years old. During this time, I would go in the bush, get sticks, sell them, and get gari to eat for the day. What the group gave us was not enough for the day, so we faced a lot of things that human beings should not have to go through. When I first got to the Ivory Coast, there were no shelters–just a large tree. So, when the sun shone, it shone on us; when it rained, it rained on us, so we hadnowhere to go. We prayed to God that we could endure until the end.

In 2002, war broke out on the Ivory Coast, and they said Charles Taylor was behind it. He and his group were beating and killing Liberians, so we were forced to go back to Liberia again. One day, I was coming home from class when the group caught us; they were catching young boys to carry the war on by force. Even if you were not a soldier, you were still caught.

They carried us to a base before going to the war front. One man escaped with us; while he was escaping, others fell, got wounded, or died. We managed to escape again back to Ivory Coast at night, and stayed there. Later on, we went back to Liberia to find our people. But the group caught the three of us on the road. They said we were soldiers, but we were not soldiers–we were refugees. We told them that we were going back home. But they started to beat us. They also said we should carry their heavy loads, but we were not able to do so, and they beat us even more.

We tried to resist them, and they said we were trying to fight them, so they killed one person from our group of three. They put a bullet in his head, and we all became frightened. They said we should get down on the ground, so we laid down flat on the ground. They said we should look straight at the sun without closing our eyes, and we looked right at the sun. Throughout this entire ordeal, they were torturing and beating us. We were begging and crying. One member of the group took out a cutlass and cut me in the stomach.

Monrovia. Photographed by: Carolyn Cole, LA Times. Date: 2004

I was about to be killed when we heard a heavy firing sound that drew their attention, and I managed to crawl into the bush bleeding. I stayed in the bush for a long time with neither proper medication nor food.

After surviving in the bush, I was able to escape to Ivory Coast, and then Ghana, where I stay now. Even now, I still feel a pain in my stomach. My wound never healed completely. For these reasons, I cannot go back to my home country.

Another reason I cannot return to Liberia is that my uncle was a wicked militant. The friends, families, and tribe of my uncle’s victims are there. As a result, my uncle and all his relatives, near and far, are in danger. Due to this tribal problem and my negative past experiences, I do not want to return to Liberia–be it during times of war or peace.

I worry a lot when I think about my people. I have no information concerning their whereabouts. Sometimes I go hungry all day long without eating. I do not have the option to return to Liberia because I have no family, friends, or home to return to. I have survived many hardships, which have left marks all over my body.

I need a place to call home where I can have quality education, and be able to do something for my future. The more I suffer in Ghana, the more I reflect on my past experiences, and the more I want to get out of Africa.

We want to be resettled out of Africa. We don’t want to go back to Liberia. Our houses are burned and destroyed. We do not know where our families are. We have no jobs or quality education. Our lives here are like wasted years. An idle mind is the devil’s workshop. We need to be someplace better, so we can have a quality education and build a future for ourselves.

Our rights have been been trampled upon. We are totally neglected despite being human beings. We are a part of society, so we should have equal rights. Did God forget us? The more I think about my past experiences, the more saddened I get. Once, I was living with a loving family, and went to school; now, I am running here and there just trying to survive.

It is afternoon by the time we arrive. The sun blazes high above a sandy road that leads into the fishing village. Kweku and I had received a text message saying, “Hi – here’s the number” from a contact. But nothing was firmed up. We find Rose at her inlaws’ house. She is wearing a purple jacket. Her dark eyes are bold, determined. A cross dangles from her neck. She agrees to speak with us.

Rose with her students before the attack.

“Last year, the story of a young woman brutally attacked with a machete hit the media, bringing about a national outcry. The First Lady personally paid the victim, Rose Amina Abdulai, a visit at the Effia Nkwanta Regional Hospital…;” Kweku and I write these words. We’re making a television documentary about Rose’s path to recovery.

“And like every 26 year old, Rose was looking forward to a bright future“, Kweku narrates.

There was a lot for Rose’s parents to be proud of. She had just started teaching at a district primary school. In a school photo, Rose sits on a wooden bench with her students at Tikobo Number 1 DC Primary. They are clad in brown uniforms and she’s very much looking the part: a teacher-in-charge. Her hands are clasped, resting calmly in her lap.

It started at about 2 o’clock, Rose recalls. She looks directly at the camera. Her brow furrows as she remembers.

It was June 2005. She was residing at the teacher’s quarters. There was a knock at the door to her room and she recognized the voice outside. It was her boyfriend Clement Andwi-Aka, whose baby she was carrying. “He posed me some questions” Rose says, “Why did I involve myself in loving somebody else?”

Andwi-Aka accused Rose of being in a relationship with a man named Innocent Kebir, a national serviceman posted to the district. Rose said Innocent was simply teaching her computer skills at the teacher’s quarters.

Rose shows her hand.

“He held my shirt.”

Andwi-Aka had a machete.

Rose tried to get away.

“He started butchering me.”

A female colleague rushed in. Rose, unconscious and bleeding profusely, was rushed to a hospital in Half Assini, and was later transferred to the regional hospital.

Kweku asks, “Can you point out the cuts that you had?” Rose takes her jacket off. She shows her left hand. Her fingers and thumb are missing. Her right arm ends in a stump at the elbow. She has scars above her eye, on her cheek and at the top of her head.

Andwi-Aka attacked Rose. Then, he went looking for Innocent. Innocent didn’t survive.

Teachers and friends mobilized to help Rose. The Jomoro District Assembly set up an emergency fund. She moved back home. From now on, without the use of her limbs, she would need constant support. Her teaching career was over and she felt confined to home. She had lost her baby. Rose’s father, Abdulai Mohammed, sputters, “I was entirely shocked.”

Kweku Interviews Rose

“Whenever I want to do something, and I can’t do it, I have to shed tears“, Rose confides. “I want my limbs to be fixed for me.”

Rose shows us how she makes do on her own. She struggles to open a CD player. The CD falls to the floor. She bends over to pick it up, balancing it on what remains of her hand. “I want you to help me. But, I have to do it myself“, she says “I’m doing all these things, but I’m not happy.” The imagery speaks for itself.

The documentary is aired on AGOO, the morning show at Skyy Television. Kweku tells me that viewers who called in were deeply moved. Outrage. Tears. Calls for Andwi-Aka to face the death penalty. Rose is struggling for a good quality of life. “I don’t want to be this way at all“, she says.

Kweku and I had brought Rose’s story back into the public eye.

Today, Rose is teaching at a school in Jomoro District. She has been fitted with prosthetic limbs, thanks to the support of womens’ organizations. She is no longer confined to life at home. Rose tells Kweku it’s as if her life has been given back to her.

The Sekondi Court found Clement Andwi-Aka guilty. He was sentenced to death.